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Tag Archives: Finola Marleigh

Finally brought me the most incredible baby ever. Seriously. Grab a snack, take a potty break, and get ready. I am finally telling this story (mainly because I moved my work station into my living room today so I can do things like blog while watching my baby sleep. And HGTV).

So. Tuesday, July 2, I was supposed to go to the midwife in the afternoon for an NST (non stress test) and ultrasound to check on Finola and schedule an induction. I woke up bleeding red blood and having menstrual-like cramps. So, I called the midwife, and she said to come in at opening so they could check me out. I went in and had the NST and a check; they could not do the ultrasound until the afternoon because they were busy. So, the NST showed that the cramps were contractions. And the midwife checked me; I was 5 cm. Perfect. She said come back at 2:15 for your ultrasound, and we will go from there. Ok. Done.

I go back at 2:15, and they find that Finola is head down, engaged, but is face up, so she can’t move. This explains all of the false labor I was having; my body was trying to turn her over. She is measuring well. We got to see her try to suck her toes, and she had her big eyes open. It was adorable. The pictures were basically newborn pictures; everything was so clear and able to be seen. The midwife came in and checked me again. I was at 5, so she asked me if I wanted to have the baby that day. “I wanted to have this baby three weeks ago,” was my reply. She had me direct admitted to the hospital, the other midwife on call was waiting for me. She assured me that I would get there, they would break my water, and I would be holding my baby by midnight. That sounded like a plan I could work with. So I called my husband home from work and away we went.

We got checked in and water was broken around 5. Mom got there shortly after. I was making the midwife laugh with my amazing wit and charm, and I was at a 6! BONUS! Progress. When they broke my water, they noticed some meconium (sp?), so they were on alert to make sure when she was born that she didn’t swallow any. She turned from face up to nose facing my right side when they broke my water. I decided to walk. Mom, Husband, and I walked the halls of the hospital. The contractions were pretty tame at first, but they started to hit hard and I stopped after about an hour or so. I then asked to get into the labor tub. Big. Mistake. The water was mega warm, and my contractions started hitting even harder. They were one minute apart, and they were 100 on the monitor. I couldn’t breathe or focus. I was struggling at best. The tub was not relaxing, so I got out and called for the Candy Man. I had stopped talking and was communicating with thumbs up and downs… it was bad. NOTHING makes me stop talking! Candy Man came in five minutes, and I was soon feeling fine. They moved my body to put my legs up in random positions to get her to flip all the way, and then they sat me straight up. THAT was what did it. I started having terrible chest pain and couldn’t breathe; I had no idea what was going on. The Candy Man gave me another hit of the good stuff, and the midwife checked me out. “If you pushed like three times, you’d feel a lot better,” she told me. Her head was right there. The pain in my chest was Finola pushing off of me, ready to be born. “I know you don’t feel ready to push, but if you did, you’d feel better.” Well, the epidural made me a little tired each time they gave it to me, so I asked her for a few minutes to compose myself. Then, it was GO time. Mom grabbed one leg, Husband grabbed another. I started to push, but not because really it was like I was pooping. My contractions brought her out more than I did. I remember the midwife telling me, “I see her head! She has DARK HAIR! And her head is SO ROUND!” I about died. Both of the other girls were born bald and have light blond hair now. I also remember being in disbelief of the whole situation and exclaimed, “I’m fucking having a baby!” Not my finest moment, but I could not believe it was finally happening. My mother in law was there, my dad was there, Husband and Mom there… we all were there to greet this little sweetheart into the breathing world. After about four minutes (if that) of pushing, she was out. I couldn’t believe it. 9:42 PM, my world completely changed. Again. And for the better. She was our biggest at 8 lbs, 2 oz. And she is so beautiful… We are so, so blessed. That moment, like the other two birth moments, will never leave my heart.

She didn’t swallow any crap. and she was healthy as a horse. No jaundice (no chance ever of that with her numbers). Perfect APGAR. She’s amazing.

The hospital stay was awesome, and we were well taken care of. We got to come home on July 4. She sleeps 5-6 hours a night (I earned this baby, I tell you). She snuggles like no other (neither of my other two were snugglers). She’s peaceful. We couldn’t figure out who she looked like at first because she kind of looked like all of us and none of us at the same time. She’s always looked like my side of the family, and now she looks even more so like me. She has dark eyes (I hope they stay that way), dark hair, and is absolutely the best baby we could ever imagine. She is damn near the perfect baby…*knock on wood*…so far.

This may sound like the condensed version, but labor and delivery literally took less than five hours. It really all happened that fast. And we have had zero issues since she has been home. I am pumping to feed her breastmilk, and that is going well. Finola is the baby we tried for, the baby we prayed for, and she is the most incredible little person… Each of my girls has their own little personality, and I can’t wait to see how she fits in the mix.

But for now, she can stay a baby. She is our last, and I would like this to last.

Don’t be in any hurry to grow up, Finola Marleigh.

Mama needs you to stay small and snuggly…

For as long as possible.

Staring out the window, contemplating this thing called life…

I am FIERCE, Damnit!

Her first smile, at her daddy, on July 4 in the hospital…

The outfit she wore for her newborn pics in the hospital…

Isn’t she beautiful?! I know, right!?

I didn’t know my heart would be able to have more room in it for another baby, but it grew the night she was born.
And she has completely changed my life.

Welcome, Finola Marleigh.
*how wonderful life is, now you’re in the world…*

So, let me preface this by saying that if you are anything like me, you absolutely blow off anyone who says, “every pregnancy is different” before you get pregnant. I heard that 1000x, and I was like, “come on. It’s a baby inside your body; how in the world can it be different every single time? You’re crazy, now pour me a drink.” But, as we have discussed before, this pregnancy is different than any other one, so much so that I was surprised I was even having a girl. My first pregnancy, aside from falling down a lot and making my doctor generally paranoid about my ability to walk upright, was perfect. Caelan came 15 days early, but she came with regular contractions and the labor/delivery from Hell *remind me to tell you my Nubaine story sometime*. And I mean regular contractions. On the dot. Every so many minutes. And that was that. It was long, but I did it, and it was textbook as far as What to Expect When You’re in Labor, and the like. Ellery had to be evicted due to a heart condition, so her entire labor was medically controlled, and to be honest, I don’t remember what it felt like in the beginning. I do remember the end because my epidural stopped working, so I wound up with a natural birth but couldn’t feel my legs. Woohoo, right?

I guess that’s why Mother Nature is so smart. We women go through these excruciating experiences of labor, and we completely forget how it felt. We would have to, or else we’d never ever have kids again. Ever.

Anyway, the past few days I have been having some contractions, lots of pelvic pressure, and all of the fun stuff that the End of Pregnancy Days usually brings along with it. This hasn’t been the first time I have felt very end of days. Two and a half weeks ago I went to the hospital with contractions, pressure, etc. And I found out I had a bladder infection. Which, oddly, feels like labor. So there was that. I was sent home with a prescription for 1000mg a day of an antibiotic (holy science!) and a “come back if you can’t talk through contractions” order. Done. I was 2 cm dilated, as I had been the week before at my midwife appointment. I was assured I would start progressing and that my body knows what it is doing, so to trust the process. Great. I like trust. I’m in.

The next week, I waddle my happy self into the midwife office for my 38 week appointment. I hadn’t had a lot of bad contractions throughout the week, but had declared myself completely over this pregnancy bit, and I was waiting to hear some good news. Well. I was still 2 cm dilated. Okie doke then. The antibiotics were working, I was feeling better, and life was smooth sailing. I wasn’t the most thrilled that the midwife, as she sailed into Third Base, declared that I was still 2cm dilated, and “thick”, but to come back the next week because assuredly at that point, I would have made progress. Trust the process. I’m in.

Last week, I was experiencing some contractions, discomfort, and I was like, “yes. This baby knows what she is doing. She is moving and grooving and coming down to be born soon. Yes!” And? No. 39 week appointment.. Third base. And 2 cm. Very little effacing. And…disappointment. Oh? And along with the disappointment? A raging yeast infection thanks to the SuperMan of All Antibiotics I had to take for seven days. Seriously. At that point, I declared this pregnancy shit for the birds, and I waited. Trust the process? Are you insane?

Back to the last few days. I have been having very strong contractions, lots of pressure, nausea, etc. Contractions were fast, then slowed a bit, then fast, then strong, then ZOMG let’s do this! So, last night at 9, I called my midwife and we went to the hospital with my mom and dad, ready to bring Finola Marleigh to the Breathing World. My in-laws had planned to stay the night because my sister and her wife *who will be watching the girls when I finally do this shit* are out of town for Pride Weekend (lucky girls). They come home today, so the plan is back to normal. So, I go to the hospital and get all checked in. Contractions are coming, we’re laughing about how ridiculous the experience has been so far, and the resident comes in. Third base. And.. you guessed it … 2 cm. Really!? I cannot explain to you how quickly my heart sank into my feet. I almost cried. I had been having these contractions and making this happen and nothing was happening. This cannot be. I assumed she had really small fingers. I was on the monitor for about an hour, having strong contractions, and really thinking that something would change. Boy, you could have knocked me over with a feather when she came in and said I was still 2 cm and had made no progress. At. All. I was ready to cry again, and the resident assured me that something would be happening soon. I am “days away from my water breaking” and “the contractions will either stop or speed up” (thank you, Dr. Magic 8 Ball, I feel like you paid too much to become a doctor and tell me the same thing a 99 cent ball can tell me, by the way). The midwife seemed to feel bad for me, and she really made me feel like what I am dealing with is common. So, I came home. And here I sit. Not contracting. Looking at purses online, writing this, and listening to my girls play Guess Who? with their daddy.

Tomorrow, I am 40 weeks. I have a midwife appt in the morning. I wasn’t planning on actually making that one, but it looks highly likely that I will. I am not going to go back into the hospital until I physically cannot stand or walk. I know it will be super close to being too late, but frankly, I can’t imagine how many bills I am racking up with my insurance company from all of this nonsense, and I can’t do it anymore. My body has no fucking clue what it is doing, which is annoying, and I just have to wait until it is damn near too late to make actually going back to the hospital make sense. I was told if I go back by 10 tonight, it will count as the same visit insurance-wise, but I don’t anticipate that actually happening. My poor husband is so ready to meet his little girl, and frankly, I am so ready to stop feeling insane.

So, when someone tells you that every pregnancy is different, trust them. I have never been this pregnant for this long, and I had no designs that I would still be pregnant at this point. We haven’t had this anticipation of baby coming, and I have never had this weird start/stop of labor before. It’s hard to believe it is my third time doing this, and I feel like an absolutely brainless moron who doesn’t know how this goes. But I guess I don’t know how this goes. The midwife assured me my body knows what it is doing, but I don’t know if I believe that. I will wait. And if the contractions never get that bad (as sometimes they just don’t on their own), then I will have to talk about medical intervention. But I am waiting until the last possible moment to even think about that. I am just going to believe that Finola Marleigh knows her birthday, she just hasn’t officially invited us to the party, and that I will know when it is truly time to make this happen.

She had better be cute. That’s all I am saying…

Someone needs to get this onesie for her, stat!!
I am sure she is worth the wait…

That was the lesson of the day for my girls today. I got pulled over, and issued a warning, by a very attractive local cop in my area. I was speeding. I didn’t realize I was going 15 over; I figured 5 at best. This did not go unnoticed by the lovely police officer. “I saw you slow from 50 to 45 when you saw me, and I realized you had no idea the limit is actually 35. I figured I should tell you.” Why thank you, Officer. I appreciate that. He was so super nice, he talked to my girls, and my perfect record allowed me to escape what would be, for all intents and purposes, reckless op. I am pleasantly surprised by all of the law enforcement folk I have been in contact with for various reasons; they’re good people. I respect them a whole lot. I would say the giant belly under my tight t-shirt probably helped, but no. I doubt it. Folks don’t feel bad for the infirmed pregnant.

That’s right, kind readers, even though it has been a while since I have been here, I am still pregnant. 39 weeks today. Holy schaboly, right?! I can’t be pregnant after tomorrow because I have never been pregnant that long, and I’d like to think Finola would like to see me comfortable and snuggling her rather than wretchedly uncomfortable, waddling, and wishing she would just COME THE F OUT ALREADY. She has made me so uncomfortable. Nausea. Heartburn. Cramps. Contractions. And let’s not even talk about the discomfort in the “bathing suit” area. I went to the hospital last week with, for all I could tell, was my water breaking and the big show starting. Hahaha…silly me. I had a fiercely raging bladder infection, which feels oddly like labor. So, I just finished a strong course of antibiotics, and I am fine. Except, you know, still pregnant. Hopefully soon she will decide to come out and join the breathing world.

We have decided we are done with babies after this. Four kids requires lots of changes, lots of new things (house, cars… you know, inexpensive life items), and frankly, my body can’t do this again. Or my mentality. Lord knows I have lost a lot of my shit this pregnancy. NO more. I want to enjoy the three I will have. Adoption can be on the table if we need it to be waaaaay down the line, as babies are born into unwanted circumstances all the time, but no more from this body. Pass. We are going to take action to make this a permanent decision so that in two years I can’t be all, “but a baaaaaaybeeeee…..” No. That’s just silliness. No more silliness from me. Every baby I have seems to set me back professionally about five years, and we all know I can’t have that now. I must do all the things, raise the three girls I will have, and touch the world in my own small way. Plus? I really don’t want a boy. I can say that with confidence. I know girls. I got this. Girls. That’s what I do.

OH yeah! We also changed the baby’s name. With the realization that this was it, I wanted to find a way to honor both of our mothers as well as our dads with her middle name. Actually, I say SHE (Finola) decided this, because this issue had been weighing on my heart for 24 straight hours without letting up. I couldn’t rest; it was YELLING IN MY EAR… we have to change her name. We have to find a way to do this. And she won’t come out until we do. Well, my husband’s mom’s name is Mary. My mom’s middle name is Marie. So, natch, I was thinking of adding Marie to Leigh. But that looked chunky. Marie-Leigh. Leigh-Marie. Ugh. No thanks, chunky name. So, I was talking this out with a friend of mine, and it came to me: Marleigh. Like a ton of bricks, it hit me, and as I typed it to my friend, I knew I had it. So, I went to The Internets to make sure I didn’t just make up a name, and NO! Huzzah! It’s a real name!! So, I talked about it with my husband, who was oddly easily behind the idea, and BOOM! Marleigh. Finola Marleigh. Done and done. I love it. LOVE it. LOVE it. He reminded me that I liked the name Marley before, which I had forgotten, but it’s such a cool and unique name, without sounding ridiculous. And it honors both of our sets of parents, and we’re once again going down in the “Best Naming Parents Ever” record books. Now all she needs to be is born so we can make it official. And? I did find out that I can have a water birth, and THAT makes me so excited, I could pee (not much doesn’t make me pee, to be honest, at this point). I have always wanted to have that experience, as I am so totally more at home near water and all that… so we will see, but wow. If I can do it? I’m going to be over the moon. Oh water birth… Yes!! Oh crunchy mom moment taking over, and I hope it will work out the way I would like it to. I will do all I can to make it a reality, but I also know how wonderful epidurals can be, so nothing is off the table at this point.

My husband is still at the Hell Job. We are waiting (sort of at this point… I am over it) for the other company to call so our lives can be normal. Whatever that means after not being at work there for over seven (!!!) months. Sigh. Patience, I have none anymore for this nonsense. We are thinking he will be able to be at the birth, so yay. That’s always the goal. And then? He can be shipped off wherever. Go. Work. Earn. That’s kind of the mantra. I figure he might as well work as much as he can and earn as much as he can, since I am not getting paid this summer with not working, and I have no desire to know how tight one income can be. I know it can be tight; I also know we can do anything we need to do to survive and thrive that we need to. I have proven that, time and again.

Anything else? Nope. I will let y’all know when the uterus has been evacuated. Fingers crossed it’s in the next 48 hours or so…. I’d love to be able to breathe. And sleep. And move. I didn’t get “over it” until last week, and now I am way over it. Come out, Finola Marleigh. We are all waiting…. and we don’t wait well around here. 🙂

Amen to that…

We’re just waiting for that moment…
Finola Marleigh.. You are so loved already…
Come out, come out, we’re ready for you.